


Fuelled by the Fire

by CantStopImagining



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, F/F, Post-Movie(s), drunk!Erin is my favourite Erin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7915207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantStopImagining/pseuds/CantStopImagining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You think they’d even notice if we left?” Abby asks, gesturing to their friends, and Patty snorts.</p><p>“That girl gets the smallest amount of liquor in her, and it’s like WOOSH, nothing else exists. Holtzy laps it right up.”</p><p>or, five times Erin is drunk and flirty, and 1 time she isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Two-shot. The +1 will be coming soon. Thanks for reading :)

1.

Erin still can’t quite believe _they did it._

All these people in the bar keep buying them drinks, and news reports are talking about them, and her face has been plastered on the front of newspapers and magazines and television, and she can’t quite seem to get her head around it at all.

It’s easier not to think about it, because then she’ll undoubtedly get anxious about it, and that will lead into a whole other mess. It’s easier to sink into a corner booth at a bar with her best friends, and concentrate on that instead. She’d happily live inside a bubble that’s just the four of them forever, she thinks, appreciating for the first time that her heart is overflowing with love and respect and fondness for the other three women, and it’s not just the beer - or the shots, or the cocktails - that’s talking.

The fuzziness, the way that all the edges of everything start to go blurry, is comforting. Straight after the mayor’s office agreed to grant them proper funding, they’d moved from one bar to another - ‘y’all we got something real to celebrate now!’ Patty had cheered, as if saving the world hadn’t been enough - and somewhere along the line, Erin had found herself drunk.

And then she hadn’t stopped.

It’s a different kind of drunk to what she’s used to. She's used to drinking to steady herself, to fight nerves; liquid courage. She’s spent hours sitting at tables, alone, at charity functions and formals and university staff parties, drinking too many glasses of champagne, going from awkward and embarrassing to depressed and lonely in a blink. She’s downed glasses of wine on the rare occasion that she accepts a dinner invitation from her parents, because it is the only way to make it bearable. But this… this is different. She hasn’t felt this kind of drunk in years.

Holtzmann is at the bar, ordering them another round. Alcohol running through her veins, Erin can’t quite drag her eyes away from the blonde, her button down shirt untucked from her smart pants, her hair a mess. She’s the most erratically beautiful creature Erin’s ever laid eyes on. Holtzmann must feel her eyes on her, because she turns, catching Erin’s eye, sending her a slow wink. It makes Erin’s stomach flip. It always does, but especially now, especially with the way her head is fuzzy and her heart is full and she’s been on the brink of happy tears for the whole night.

This thing between them, whatever it is, has gone on for too long.

Unusually confident, she attempts to wink back, but she has absolutely no flirtatious grace whatsoever. What actually happens is a very slow, mechanical blink, one eye half a second behind the other. Holtzmann’s smirk turns into a full blown laugh, her head tossed back, blonde curls bouncing, and Erin feels her face flush hot.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Abby demands from across the table, “are you having a stroke?”

Erin groans, burying her face in her hands.

Maybe it isn’t so different after all.

-

2.

They find the least trendy bar in New York and it becomes their local watering hole. It’s a bit of a dump, but the barman is a sweetheart, and they aren’t constantly being recognised by the public, or having cameras stuck in their faces.

They actually have to pay for their own drinks. Most of the time, anyway.

They drink after successful busts, after capturing a record number of ghosts. They drink after long lazy days, with no ghost calls, when they’re desperate for something to do. They drink when theoretic formulae is too hard and Erin and Abby have been staring at the same white board for six hours and the numbers are all blurring together and Patty insists they have to leave. They drink when Holtzmann almost blows herself up for the tenth, twentieth, hundredth time (Patty puts up a ‘it has been ____ day(s) since an accident in this workplace’ sign, and the number has only once gone above ‘1’ - they drink then, too).

They drink when a level 5 drags Holtz out of an open window and almost kills her. Again.

They drink without mentioning it, and it sits there, the elephant in the room, looming over them though they’re all pretending it’s just another bust.

The unspoken seating arrangement has always been Abby and Erin on one side of the booth, Patty and Holtzmann on the other. Patty raises her eyebrows when Erin slides in next to Holtzmann, in a movement that appears casual and unplanned, but in reality, is all Erin thought about on the way over. When no one says anything, she relaxes, though her pulse is still racing, pounding in her ears. She feels like a stupid teenager.

As the night goes on, they seem to end up sitting closer and closer. Holtz’s arm drapes over the back of Erin’s seat (though that’s nothing unusual, regardless of who is sitting where), and Erin moves closer, and eventually their knees are touching and Erin’s leaning on one elbow, holding onto every word that leaves Holtzmann’s lips, and she’s touching Holtz’s hand, and their faces are getting closer and closer together.

It’s Abby’s turn to raise her eyebrows. When Patty gets up to order more drinks, Abby joins her at the bar.

“You think they’d even notice if we left?” Abby asks, gesturing to their friends, and Patty snorts.

“That girl gets the smallest amount of liquor in her, and it’s like _WOOSH_ , nothing else exists. Holtzy laps it right up.”

Abby wiggles her eyebrows, a stupid grin on her face, “as long as that’s all she’s lapping up.”

Patty cackles, clapping Abby on the back.

“Yeah, right, like those two are ever gonna wise up and actually _do something about it._ ”

Abby’s gaze returns to the table and, sure enough, they’re still sitting there, Holtzmann obviously telling some kind of ridiculous joke, and Erin’s laughter audible even from the bar, their fingers touching loosely on the table top. Abby rolls her eyes.

-

3.

They’d planned to go out for New Years, but ghosts aren’t really respectful of public holidays, and by the time they’ve scrubbed ectoplasm off, muscles aching, no one really feels like going out. Abby gets in a case of beer, and they have a few bottles of spirits (har har) that various clients have gifted them, and if they can’t be bothered to find the party, the party will find them.

Erin’s always hated New Years. It’s just a reminder of how much time has passed and how little she’s achieved, and how pathetic everything is. But, this year, it’s different, and she can’t wrap her head around it.

She knows it ought to feel nice. The firehouse is filled with laughter and music and warmth, and the three (four, if you include Kevin) people Erin loves most on earth, but it still doesn’t quite feel like enough. She still feels herself drifting out of it. She’s drunk, but it hasn’t numbed her like she thought it would. If anything, it’s made her more aware of everything.

A few minutes before midnight, Erin finds herself sitting up on the roof. Fireworks light up the Manhattan skyline, and though they’re too loud and too bright, Erin finds that she likes it. It distracts her from what’s going on in her head. What she’s avoiding inside.

“You’re not going to find your midnight kiss up here,” Holtzmann practically shouts over the fireworks, grinning lopsidedly. 

Erin feels her cheeks turning bright red as she slowly drags her gaze away from the edge of the roof and to Holtzmann, who sinks onto the bench beside her.

“I’ve never had a midnight kiss. Ever.”

Holtz frowns, “I find that hard to believe.”

Sighing, Erin buries her face in her hands, propping her elbows up on her knees. Her head’s spinning. Its a familiar kind of drunk, where she wakes up alone and hungover and surrounded by empty fast food containers. When she leans into Holtzmann, it’s not with the usual liquid courage that usually drives her. She needs grounding. 

“What are we doing?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at the blonde.

“Sitting on the roof at… 11:58pm, watching the fireworks?” Holtzmann replies immediately, cocking her head to one side.

It isn’t what she meant, but the original question was so loaded that Erin is almost glad not to get a serious response. She exhales, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and tucking herself into the space between Holtzmann’s shoulder and neck. It’s warm and safe there. She can hear Holtzmann’s pulse underneath her finger tips.

Maybe in other circumstances she’d be drunk enough, confident enough. Maybe she’d kiss her. 

She isn’t.

“I hate fireworks,” Holtzmann says, lips moving against her hair.

“Huh? I was not expecting that.”

“They go on too long. Too loud,” she whispers, then, grinning, “I bet I could make a pretty awesome display up here though, something much more exciting and…”  
 “Nuclear?” Erin suggests, laughing when Holtzmann nods enthusiastically.

They’re sitting so close that Erin measures the distance between their lips, calculates that all it would take was one small movement, one tilt of her head…

Somewhere in the distance, the countdown starts.

_Ten. Nine._

Erin gazes up at Holtzmann. Pale fingers brush auburn hair out of her eyes, away from her face.

_Eight. Seven._

She lets her eyes close, resists nuzzling into the hand that’s cupping her face, barely.

_Six. Five._

Holtzmann’s fingers ghost over her lips, so light that Erin isn’t even sure they’re really there.

_Four. Three._

She braces herself, feeling her breath hitch.

_Two. One._

Holtzmann’s lips gentle against her forehead. Erin can’t fight the disappointment that floods through her, the tear that rolls down her cheek. She sinks deeper into the side of Holtzmann, gripping her tight around the waist, and burying her face in the crook of her neck.

-

4.

“Erin’s here! And she’s drunk!” Abby exclaims, as her best friend stumbles into the booth, dropping her purse, and almost tripping over her own feet in her ridiculous high-heels.

“Oh, good,” Patty deadpans. She’s had enough of playing third and fourth wheel to Erin and Holtzmann’s on-going… whatever.

From across the booth, Holtzmann’s eyes glitter.

“I am not,” Erin whines, but the way she’s slumped in her seat seems to imply otherwise.

“I take it Doctor McDatey-pants wasn’t so great after all?” Abby asks, propping her chin up on her hands.

Four days previous, they’d caught two class 3s at a cafe downtown, but not before one of them had managed to trip Patty up and left her head over heel on the concrete outside the building. She’d left the emergency room with a sprained wrist. Erin had left with a doctor’s phone number.

“He’s the most boring, egocentric man I’ve ever met,” she finally admits, groaning into her hands which are covering her face, “and you know the kind of men I used to work with at Columbia. So that’s saying something.”

Patty grimaces, “oh man, I know the type… talks about nothing but himself and his work? Orders dinner for you?”

Erin nods: yep.

Holtzmann, who has been surprisingly quiet this whole time, pushes her half-drunk beer across the table and into Erin’s hands. “You look like you need it more than I do.”

She isn’t drunk, per-say. Okay, yeah, she drank half a bottle of wine before they’d even had their starters, but she’d managed to hail a cab over here, and she’d not even stumbled over ‘egocentric’. She could take another beer. Easy.

Erin downs the glass in one go, leaving Holtzmann staring at her with her mouth wide open.

“Eurgh men. I’m never going on a date with one again,” she mutters, putting the glass down.

Chuckling, Patty raises her glass, “I’ll drink to that.”

Holtzmann raises her eyebrows, that mischievous look evident in her eyes again.

Patty groans.

At the bar, Holtzmann leans against Erin who is waiting whilst the barman makes their cocktails. Erin feels her cheeks pink at the close contact, the way Holtzmann is staring at her, like she’s trying to read her. Erin’s never been good under scrutiny.

She’s drunk enough that she laps up the attention, though. Her gaze moves down Holtzmann’s body involuntarily.

“Screw you,” Erin breathes, dragging her eyes up to Holtzmann’s with a lopsided smile.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Holtz replies, grinning. Her eyes are wild, manic.

Erin rolls her eyes, fingers finding their way to the pendant that hangs around Holtzmann’s neck. She strokes her thumb over it, then lets go, prodding her index finger into the hollow of Holtz’s chest.

“You’re so…” Erin starts, her voice slightly slurred, “…hot.”

Uncharacteristically, Holtzmann’s face goes pink, from the tips of her ears to her neck. She swallows, and Erin can see her throat constrict. She looks so much more uncomfortable than Erin has ever seen her. She decides she must have said the wrong thing.

“It’s hot in here, right?” Erin laughs, awkwardly.

“It is,” Holtz agrees, and though she’s putting on her usual bravado, something’s changed.

Their drinks arrive. They sit back down in their booth.

Somehow, it feels like Erin’s failed two dates tonight, not just one.

-

5.

In retrospect, tequila was a bad idea.

Then again, maybe she can’t entirely blame the alcohol for her poor decision making, because when Holtzmann holds out her hand and says ‘come on hot stuff, let’s dance’, Erin doesn’t even hesitate, and that’s before the second shot (and the third). She’s pretty sure even if she’d been sober, she wouldn’t have been able to say no when Holtz is giving her that look, all teeth and dimples and crazy, impossibly blue eyes. Something inside of Erin hums with electric heat, and she likes the way it feels, the way it surges through her. If her colleagues from Columbia could see her now… not that she cares. Not that she has the capacity to care about anything at all with Holtzmann’s hand gentle on her lower back, her breath warm as she whispers a flirtatious ‘after you’ when they reach the dance floor.

They aren’t at their usual place. This place is loud, bass thrumming through Erin’s body in a way she thinks she ought to hate, but doesn’t. The lights are low, and it’s almost comforting, knowing that she could be anybody, unrecognisable in the heat of the bar. She doesn’t usually like places that are this busy.

As soon as Holtzmann’s hands are on her waist, firm but gentle, Erin forgets where they are completely. Her eyes are glued to Holtzmann’s, drinking in the darkness she finds there, the unexpected seriousness of her expression. They move slowly together, hips practically touching, and Erin’s never been a good dancer, never danced like this, but somehow it comes naturally, her arms over her head, her body swaying in time with the music. She can feel her breath hitching in her throat, her heart pounding, blood rushing to her head. She’s never felt like this before, has never felt anything so all-consuming. She can’t keep her eyes off Holtz, taking in every inch of her face now that it’s so close, even in the dim lights. Her lips part, her tongue darting out involuntarily, and Erin can’t drag her eyes away.

The song changes, and the intensity between them melts away, Erin awkwardly laughing as Holtzmann grins, letting go of her. Erin misses the contact immediately.

Erin knows that if it weren’t for the warmth of alcohol inside her, she’d be driving herself crazy trying to figure out what all of this means. But tequila makes her confident, and even though her thoughts are slurred, she knows what she’s doing when she tugs on Holtzmann’s hand, pulling her towards the bathroom.

Each time this happens, she tells herself that it’s okay, as long as she’s drunk. It means nothing, as long as she’s drunk.

They almost collide with somebody leaving, and Erin can’t stop herself from laughing at the absurdity of it as they struggle to move out of the way, still connected by their hands. She tugs Holtz towards her as the heavy door swings closed, closing the gap between them, and then pressing her against the sinks.

“God, I want you,” she whispers, and in any other situation, she knows it would sound ridiculous, but she sees from the look in Holtzmann’s eyes that it’s worked.

“Erin—“ Holtz breathes.

Erin props herself against the wall, and then all at once her hands are in Holtzmann’s hair, tugging curls out of their neat up-do, and pressing her lips firm against the blonde’s. It’s not a graceful kiss at all; their teeth collide, and their noses aren’t co-ordinated at all, and when Erin nearly bites Holtzmann’s lip, she lets out this strangled, surprised noise, and pulls away.

“You’re drunk, and we’re—-“ Holtzmann stammers, gesturing at the space between them, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Erin frowns at her, and she can feel a lump forming in her throat, the burn of tears threatening at her eyes, “you don’t want me?” she squeaks, and suddenly her head’s spinning, and the bathroom is too small, and they’re standing too close. It’s too hot, and too bright.

“What part of anything I’ve ever said to you gives you the impression I don’t want you?” Holtzmann says, but it’s too late, Erin’s pulling away from her. 

She can’t catch her before the cubicle door slams closed, and she can hear the unmistakable sound of Erin throwing up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not talking about it. That doesn't mean Erin's not thinking about it, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry there's a happy ending I promise :)

6.

It’s a Friday night, and they’re at Joe’s, and Erin’s nursing a full glass of beer.

Across the table, Holtzmann and Patty are in a heated debate about who would win in a fight: The Rock or Vin Diesel. Abby’s offering minimal contribution. Erin’s zoned out.

“Are you okay? You’ve barely touched that.”

Erin turns to her best friend and gives her most convincing smile, “yeah, just tired.”

It’s been two weeks since they last went out for drinks. Two weeks since she kissed Holtz. Two weeks since Holtz rejected her.

They’re not talking about it.

That doesn’t mean Erin’s not thinking about it, though. She’s barely thought about anything else. She doesn’t remember how she made it to bed that night, but she does remember their kiss, Holtzmann’s hands on her shoulders, pushing her away.

She hadn’t meant to kiss her, but it felt sort of inevitable. Everything was working towards it.  Realistically, Erin knows she would never have made a move if she wasn’t drunk. To begin with, she hadn’t really noticed that they were flirting. It hadn't occurred to her that that was what it was. They were just having a good time. But as soon as she’d started to understand, she’d, naturally, started to panic about it. When that had changed, she isn't entirely sure. And maybe she’d known what she was doing - subconsciously, at least - when she allowed herself to get that intoxicated, maybe she’d wanted it all along but alcohol gave her the confidence she didn’t have when she was sober. That last time, she’d definitely known, hadn’t she? She’d wanted to. To explore whatever this thing between them was. Or could have been.

Holtzmann, as it turns out, just flirts with everyone. It doesn’t mean anything.

Well, everyone but her, now.

Erin catches her eye across the table. She’s laughing at something Patty said, her eyes shining, her mouth wide open. Erin smiles, and Holtzmann quickly looks away. It’s a movement so small it could have gone unnoticed if it weren’t for the way Erin’s heart sinks into her stomach.

This is how it’s been for two weeks. She knows she can’t be annoyed with Holtz - the difference has been so minuscule that she wonders if she hasn’t just invented it - if anything, she’s furious with herself for letting this happen. Erin feels like she’s been drifting through work with no purpose. She finds herself staring at Holtzmann instead of equations, distracted by her when they’re on busts, and feeling more and more self-loathing when those tell-tale signs - the grins and the winks and Holtzmann’s hands gentle on her waist when she moves past her in the lab - never come. She did this. This is no one's fault but her own.

If Abby and Patty have noticed any change, they haven’t mentioned it. Which is sort of funny, if Erin thinks about it, because it’s impossible, the quiet deafening to her, but they haven’t even noticed.

“Excuse me, I need the rest room,” she eventually says, because as much as she adores the sound of Holtzmann’s laugh, it’s making her feel like she’s going to be sick.

She slides out of the booth and Holtzmann looks at her, puzzled. Erin doesn’t notice.

Standing in front of the mirror, Erin splashes water onto her face from the sink and squeezes her eyes closed. _Just be normal just be normal just be normal._ It’s a familiar ritual. She stands there for a long time, staring at herself.

She almost misses the door opening, Holtzmann’s entrance a lot less spectacular than usual.

Erin suppresses a groan.

They stand there in silence, Holtzmann with her back pressed against the door, Erin washing her hands, ignoring the way they shake when they reach for the faucet. This intensity between them is unbearable. It doesn’t make her body hum in the way it used to, now it just makes her stomach churn.

Eventually, she snaps.

“Why are you here, Holtzmann, are you even planning on using the—-“

Holtzmann’s hands tangle in her hair and her lips are on hers and its gentle but firm, and Erin feels herself melting into the warmth of her mouth, pressing their bodies as close as possible, her forearms pressed against Holtzmann’s chest, her hands touching her face. 

It ends, and Erin feels like all the breath in her body has left her.

“What is with us and bathrooms?” Holtzmann says, smiling lopsidedly at her. She doesn’t look her usual confident self, despite the remark and the smirk. There’s uncertainty lingering in her eyes.

“Why did you do that?” Erin demands, and she doesn’t know why it comes out so angrily, but she regrets it when she sees the smile slip from Holtzmann’s lips.

The lips that she was just kissing.

She forgets how to breathe, again.

Before Holzmann has the chance to respond, Erin kisses her again. Holtzmann gasps into the kiss, hands resting gingerly on Erin’s hips. Erin lets the anger in her dissipate, her whole body coming alive as her mouth moves against Holtzmann’s. She has questions - so many questions - but when she moves to pull back, tries to talk, Holtzmann just draws her back in, her grip tightening, arms wrapping around her waist.

“Thank god,” Holtzmann finally breathes, letting her go. She runs a hand over her face, through her messy hair, “I couldn’t bear this any longer.”

“What? Holtz, you’re the one whose been ignoring _me_. And then you come in here and you… you kiss me…”

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Holtzmann grins. Erin hits her.

“It’s not funny!” Erin says, frustrated. But she isn’t mad, not really. She can’t be. 

She wants to kiss her again. She doesn’t. They need to talk.

“I didn’t know if you’d…” Holtzmann lost for words is a strange sensation, “you wanted to… you kissed me, too, right?”

Erin rolls her eyes, but her expression is soft, “yes.”

“We are such a mess,” she concludes. And Erin laughs, because, yes, they are. No one can deny them that.

“I had to be sure that it wasn’t just a when-we’re-drunk thing,” Holtzmann says, rubbing at the back of her neck. She looks like an awkward teenager, “I mean, I knew it wasn’t for me, but…”

Erin nods. She gets it, she does. She suddenly feels so stupid for actually believing that Holtzmann wasn’t interested. She’s so used to it being one-sided. The only people who have ever been interested in her are jerks, men who only want her because she’s the only young female in their department. Men who are embarrassed to be seen with her. She’s dated them because it’s expected of her. They always manage to hurt her.

She knows Holtzmann’s different.

“I couldn’t have gone back to seeing you every day knowing that it was a drunken mistake and you regretted it,” Holtzmann’s head sags, and she looks so serious that Erin feels a pang in her chest, a lump in the back of her throat.

This is Holtzmann, who swaggers into a room like she owns it, who is so sure of herself and oozing with confidence, that she flirts with just about everything that moves. The first time they met, she’d used a ridiculous pick up line on her, a lit blow torch in her hand, feet up on the table. Erin still blushes thinking about it.

People have hurt her before. She can see it in the way Holtz looks at her, all vulnerability hiding poorly behind a small smile. Her face contorts into her usual smirk and Erin gets it for the first time. This is what she does. Erin has her practicality, her organisation, her lists, her stiff suits and high heels and those things that make her feel like she has somewhere to belong even when she knows she doesn’t. (Had. Knew. She doesn’t need those anymore. She wears flannel shirts and jeans and trainers and nobody minds). 

Holtzmann has this persona. The flirting. The constant jokes.

Erin reaches for her, tucks strands of soft blonde hair behind her ears, touches her cheeks with fingers that are only slightly shaking. She ghosts her lips over hers, and Holtzmann tilts her head, presses their foreheads together. She takes her hand, loops their fingers together.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she says, her lips turning up into a nervous smile, her nose scrunching.

Holtzmann’s laughter vibrates against her, “me either.”

They kiss, still laughing, and none of it matters anymore.


End file.
